His vision was nothing but blur and static—like someone had smeared Vaseline over his eyes and then cranked the tinnitus to max. His whole body pulsed with pain, every breath tasting like dirt and copper. A cough slipped out, sharp and weak.

This was the second time something like this had happened to him in the same day. How fortunate. At this rate, dying again was going to start feeling like a nap.

"Ugh…" Finn spat, forcing himself to sit up. His ears kept cutting in and out like a bad Bluetooth connection. He smacked the side of his head a few times.

'Come on, stupid ears—work! I can't afford a time where I can't hear!'

The ringing finally began to fade, replaced by something far worse—screaming. Shouting. Crying. It sounded like a missile had landed in a crowded neighborhood, and Finn was the unlucky survivor who had to process it all.

As his hearing cleared, so did his sight—and that's when he noticed it.

A shadow.

A massive one, stretching across the ground like a dark stain.

Every instinct in his body screamed don't look up, and for once, he was tempted to listen. But curiosity, like always, overpowered self-preservation.

Turning his head slightly, Finn's stomach twisted. The area was wrecked—mud splattered everywhere, smoke rising in thick plumes. People were scattered across the field like rag dolls.

Theron was the first he spotted—using his cane to prop himself up, his expression a mix of fury and disbelief. Around him, others groaned and coughed, still dazed from the impact.

And yet, in the middle of the chaos, Silvara stood perfectly upright.

Untouched. Unshaken. Unbothered.

Her long silver hair didn't even look dirty.

'How does she even do that…? Did she just parry the explosion?'

Finn squinted in confusion until he felt something light touch his shoulder.

He jumped so hard he almost yelped.

Turning fast, he saw Isolde.

Her outfit was a mess—dirt-smeared, tattered at the edges—but she still looked unfairly beautiful. Her soft, ghostly face leaned close, eyes filled with concern.

"Are you alright, Mister Finn…?" she asked, her voice gentle and breathless.

"I–I think I am…?" Finn muttered, his voice half-shaken, half-confused.

"That is great…" Isolde replied softly, her tone calm despite the chaos around them. She lingered for a moment, then added, "Allow me to help you up."

She gently lifted his arm, steadying him as he rose to his feet. His knees wobbled, and his back screamed in protest, but with her help, he managed to stand upright again.

And that's when he finally saw it.

The thing that had crashed.

It was… a head.

Somehow—Chestelle was right. A massive head.

Its eyes were closed, its nose and lips eerily human, yet the texture of its skin wasn't quite stone. It shimmered faintly, like living marble, pulsing with something under the surface.

"The hell…" Finn whispered under his breath, squinting at it like the thing had just insulted his mom.

He turned to Isolde. "Do you know what the hell that is?"

She shook her head gently, her expression unreadable. "I do not. I have never seen, nor heard, of anything like this before."

"Well damn it…" Finn frowned, looking back at the stone-like face. "That's comforting."

All around them, the others were starting to come to. Seraphina and Chestelle groaned as they pushed themselves up—Seraphina covered in mud, Chestelle blinking in confusion like she just woke up from a nap she didn't remember taking. Sophia, meanwhile, was face-first in the mud, mumbling something about her staff and crying that her face was ruined.

The edgy sword guy was already back on his feet, sword buried in the ground beside him, his knuckles white as he glared at the giant head. His clothes were torn, but the man looked ready to take on God if he had to.

Lickthorn, on the other hand, was arched like a yoga pretzel, her face half-buried in the dirt, mumbling what sounded suspiciously like "I felt that one deep inside…"

Raze and Chunkus were both down for the count—slumped against each other like two drunks after last call.

And then there was Majestria. Flat on the ground. Out cold. Yet not a single thing of debris or anything on her.

Finn groaned. 'Of course she's fine. The universe just loves to pick on me specifically.'

And just when things couldn't get any weirder—

Two large figures emerged from the smoke.

Big Tim and RahRah.

RahRah stood proudly atop Tim's massive shoulders, holding his weapon high like a conquering hero as he shouted, "RahhahaRah is here!"

His voice echoed like a war trumpet as Big Tim stomped closer, eyes blazing and ready for battle.

'Oh good,' Finn thought tiredly, rubbing his temples. 'Now the everyone has officially arrived.'

***

They all stood there—silent, tense, and utterly dumbfounded—staring up at the massive stone head resting half-buried in the mud.

No one said a word.

No one could say a word.

It was too absurd, even by this world's standards.

A giant head, just sitting there like it dropped out of God's pocket. No body, no explanation. Just eeriness.

Finn frowned, squinting. "Why is it just a head…?" he muttered. "Where's the rest of it? Is there like… a torso about to appear or something?"

No one answered him. They were all just as confused.

That was—until its eyes opened.

Both at once.

And what stared back at them wasn't alive.

It wasn't dead either.

It was something in between—cold, hollow, and unnervingly human.

The lifeless gaze hit Finn like a brick. His spine locked up immediately.

"Yeah, no, nope. Fuck that. I seen too much to know this is not a good sign whatsoever."

But then—its eyes started to water.

Tears welled up like glass marbles before streaming down its cheeks in thick, steady rivers. Mud puddles rippled at their feet as the giant cried, each tear splashing with the force of a cannonball.

The sight alone was enough to freeze everyone in place.

"What the hell…" Finn whispered.

Even Isolde's expression faltered, her usually composed face breaking into visible worry.

The head let out a low, trembling moan. Its stone lips parted slightly, exhaling a faint gust of hot air that smelled like burning dust. Then—

Its mouth opened wider.

And wider.

Until it was gaping like a dark cavern, teeth stretching along the edges like jagged marble cliffs.

Then came the tongue—slowly rolling out like a massive, wet carpet, hitting the mud with a heavy splorch.

No one moved.

No one breathed.

They all just stood there like cats caught mid–crime. Finn's heart was racing so fast he could hear it in his ears.

Seraphina immediately began mumbling frantic prayers, clutching her medallion like her life depended on it.

The sword guy raised his blade, shaking slightly. Lickthorn—somehow—looked intrigued. Chestelle tilted her head, as if deciding whether if she wanted lick it to see what it tastes like.

And Finn…

He just sighed in pure exhaustion.

"I can't keep doing this stuff man…"

With the mouth open, the air had completely shifted into something else—like some looming threat was about to come that none of them were prepared for.

A soft rumble echoed from within, making everyone tense up even more. Finn could already feel goosebumps crawling up his arms. They couldn't see what was inside, but he knew something was definitely in there. The problem was… it was pitch black. Not even a flicker of light.

Gulping, Finn's legs began to shake. Looking down at them only made him more nervous—and more annoyed.

'Stop shaking, damn it!'

A few droplets of water still fell from the head's eyes, hitting the ground with a faint tap… tap… that only made things eerier. Then came the soft clicking of footsteps echoing from deep within the head.

'So someone is inside that disgusting thing?!'

What started as a single footstep quickly turned into several—multiple people, by the sound of it—heading straight toward the mouth. Finn felt his heart sink lower with every step.

Turning to Isolde, he muttered, "If there's multiple people in that head, and I somehow get targeted, preyed upon, or jumped on out of nowhere…" His tone dropped, deadly serious. "…then you owe me. Big time."

She blinked, tilting her head slightly. "That is oddly specific, but… very well then."

Nodding to himself like it was a binding contract, Finn exhaled. "Good."

Continuing to look forward, the footsteps echoing from the mouth suddenly came to a stop. Finn squinted, barely able to make out several silhouettes standing there—different shapes, different sizes.

They looked like some kind of rip-off Saturday morning cartoon villains. But the shapes also looked human, which only made Finn's confusion worse.

'What the hell am I even looking at…?'

Then one of the figures began to move—slowly, deliberately—as if getting ready to do something.

Finn's stomach dropped.

And then, under the sun light and shadow of the gaping stone mouth, the figure finally stepped forward—fully revealing itself.

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